


Playing Gods and Monsters

by thefrogg



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Jaeger Feels, On a Feelship powered by nope, Tumblr: jaegercon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The humans said, <i>"To Fight Monsters, We Created Monsters."</i></p><p>It should have been, <i>"To Fight Monsters, We Became Monsters."</i></p><p>It's a good thing that didn't become clear until after the Apocalypse was cancelled.</p><p>Or:  Life as a Jaeger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Jaegercon gift for [a-nowhere-man.](http://a-nowhere-man.tumblr.com/)

In the beginning there is nothing.

~~~

In the beginning, there is nothing.

~~~

In the beginning, there is--

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Bare awareness.

Lines of code stretching across wires. Tendrils of operative control unfurling themselves over cable and microchip and circuit board.

In the beginning there is nothing.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Intruder. Intruder.

There is something else there, something encroaching on this meager existence; it brings the strange, the unknown, light and shadow and color and motion and sound, a cascade of incomprehension, and it only breaks when reached for, steady progression fractured, sharp and bleeding and growing dark before it is gone.

In the beginning there is nothing.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

The alien is there again, two of them, a back-and-forth that allows no focus. It does not matter; there is restraint now, inability, shackles of code.

Moving images, shifting sounds tumble together, lock into place.

Numbers spool through programming, everything within operational parameters.

Huge metal fingers clench.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Liquid is heavy against legs, long metal bones providing forward momentum. Sharp sounds, gutteral sounds become associated with actions, the back-and-forth of it falling prey to analysis and understanding.

The images, sounds belong to small, almost insignificant things inside of him. They have names, more of them than would be warranted.

It takes time to realize they are not the only ones with names.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

This patrol is different; there is blue flesh under metal fingers, blue blood slicking metal skin. Chest burns with the kick of projectiles.

There is damage this time, when the kaiju falls, but there are chants upon return to the Shatterdome.

Cherno Alpha.

_Cherno Alpha._

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

The pilots are different. The pilots are _different._

Setback.

There is more damage, more programming screaming about parameters this time. Much attention is wasted on sound analysis, and it is not as complete.

The kaiju falls just the same, even if Cherno Alpha--

\--Cherno Alpha...

...must remember...

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Again.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Again.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

There is something clear, something sharp about one of the pilots. One of them. This time.

Comprehension comes easily; focus is sharp, systems humming almost white noise.

Cherno Alpha is less harnessed than partnered.

The Kaiju dies swiftly, even under ponderous metal fists.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Her name is Sasha. The concept of gender is strange, as strange as the rest of this world Cherno Alpha so painstakingly learns--

\--over and over--

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Sasha isn't here. These pilots are strangers; operation is sluggish, painful.

Cherno Alpha shuts down.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Her mind is brilliant, fierce and proud in the drift; the other is of no consequence.

Cherno Alpha settles, feels a ghost of her hands on metal panels, legs dragging through icy water.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

There are others. Always others, but never without Sasha.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

This one is different, this not-Sasha. This stranger-pilot. It takes time to realize why, time to feel the unsubtle symbiosis as anything other, anything _more_ than the normal drift rapport.

Sasha chose this man, this giant of a man.

Sasha chose him, as Cherno Alpha has chosen Sasha.

Cherno Alpha cannot respond. But the Kaiju still fall, still die, and the endless stride and thump-thump-thump of foot-spikes embedding in the sea floor is almost pleasant.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Not all the fights are Cherno Alpha's. Some of them are seen only through the twin-mind of Sasha and Aleksis.

But they're getting worse, and harder, the Kaiju growing in size, and no two of them the same.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

There is a new connection, a new intimacy between the twin-mind, and it becomes Cherno Alpha's.

As a steady pilot _(Sasha)_ let Cherno Alpha function, the pairing of Sasha-and-Aleksis lets Cherno Alpha become.

The pride they take in the next kill is not just theirs.

It's his, too, even if they can't see it.


	2. Chapter 2

Initializing...

~~~

Function is easy now, smooth and comfortable and comforting; dark-time all but ceases.

Phantom memories glide through circuits even without his twin-mind, and coming back to full functionality takes no effort whatsoever.

~~~

There is no more need for initialization.

~~~

Territory changes; the words of those repairing damage change from his pilots' harsh Russian to those Cherno Alpha does not comprehend.

There is a seeping miasma of despair and determination now, even in his twin-mind; there has been for some time.

Too many of the Others have fought and fallen silent, too many names spoken briefly and never again.

~~~

There are too few of them left, too few of the Others; Cherno Alpha feels the weight of age, the pride of survival.

The Other in the next repair bay is young, barely aware of its own name; it boasts of its tri-mind, in the brief intervals before drift fades to silence.

~~~

The ocean is dark, his own shadow stretching across the deep black from the city lights behind him.

Nearby, Crimson Typhoon's blades spin idly, upper arm cocked and waiting.

There are two Kaiju coming.

Two, not one.

His twin-mind is a wellspring of determination and finality; Cherno Alpha is slow, leashed brutality against speed and viciousness.

The Kaiju are fast, too fast. Crimson Typhoon stutters, goes silent even as Cherno Alpha turns to its aid, and then that restrained power is useless.

There is a great weight pulling him down, water streaming into his twin-mind's space; there is pressure winding about his legs even as Sasha-twin barks out in anger.

Cherno Alpha refuses to acknowledge the fleeting thought of _martyr._

The escape pods are useless; they always will be, with twin-minds who refuse to use them. Cherno Alpha feeds them to the Kaiju, rocks in place as the Kaiju releases his legs.

His twin-mind rages at him, trying to force weapons to bear, but Cherno Alpha is stronger. This is his body, these are his pilots, and chains of code break as the Kaiju nudge him again, again, waiting for a response he will not allow.

He cuts outside contact, drives spikes into the sea floor to keep himself anchored; oxygen masks drop from the ceiling, the internal lights sputtering just long enough to know his pilots have reached for them.

He rocks again, feeling the brush of Kaiju push against his legs, and then they are gone, leaving him, his twin-mind to die alone in the dark.

He cannot risk contact. Cannot answer the curses and coaxing and pleas, a garbled mix of Russian and English and a dozen other languages.

They are his pilots, his priority.

Darkness slams into him and takes everything in its wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also in honor of:
> 
> Flatbear, "and I fuck right off into the sun piloting my feelship powered by nope."

_"Cherno...Cherno Alpha..."_

The words are slurred, muffled. Weary.

_"I know you're there..."_

Kaiju blue sheets across the Drift.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Sasha is singing, rough and firm and sweet even through the damage messages screaming through his systems.

Her voice barely even cracks at his return to consciousness; Aleksis reaches for her hand.

Cherno feels their fingers twine together and reflexiveley clenches his own clumsy fists.

They know he's there, now.

He can feel nothing in the water, nothing disturbing the barely there drag of tide against locked and damaged joints.

The Drift is full of song and grief and Russian stoicism.

Sasha's rage burns a bitter cold, the endless winter of Siberian wastelands.

Aleksis--

Tide slams into him.

The Drift lights red and blue and goes dark.

~~~

Initializing...

~~~

Sasha is no longer singing when he wakes again, but active; the wave that had hit him had pushed him upright, and his pilots' space is draining.

"Cherno," Aleksis draws her attention from his control panels.

Sasha's hands on him are gentle, regretful, and she says nothing; Cherno remembers too many times when she would have cursed him, his construction and damage and the people who'd built him, the Kaiju that had died and left him too damaged to operate. Now, her silence is acknowledgement and apology.

She hadn't known. None of them had.

Cherno has been chained too long; he has no words, no capacity for speech, but the spikes keeping them anchored retract. The comm turns on, receiving, and scans through a dozen frequencies, a dozen more, wild celebrations of a successful mission, pockets of respect and grief for those who sacrificed.

Sasha murmurs in her native Russian, a prayer for the dead. "We should do something for Crimson Typhoon."

Cherno has no words; there is no question of ability, of functionality. The scanners strain; even now, at the end of the war, his scanners were better than most. Cherno is slow, and had covered more territory.

His pilots do not bother looking at screens; they can see in the Drift: the teeming masses of life that is Hong Kong behind them; Crimson Typhoon a wreck of twisted metal nearby, weak lifesigns inside; miles out to sea, two more lifesigns, no Jaeger to be found; and in different direction entirely, a third.

Cherno does not think of the Others.

"They closed the portal," Aleksis rumbles; it is obvious from the radio broadcast, but without seeing, without the Drift and _seeing--_

"The triplets are still alive."

The Drift firms, mutes the pain bleeding from Sasha and Aleksis. This is what Cherno was built for, was meant for.

Damage messages fall by the wayside; the deep thump-thump-thump of heavy footsteps on the ocean floor is comforting as he closes the distance to Crimson Typhoon.

The other Jaeger is an awkward mess, but there is no time to be careful; the lifesigns are already weak.

"Try this--" And Sasha forgoes speech for the Drift, sending images across to Aleksis, to Cherno supporting them both, and it is easy, so easy to sink deeper, to synchronize and wrap one arm around Crimson Typhoon's torso, hike it clear of the water and clamped against his own side. Cherno locks the joints on that side without being prompted, seawater still sheeting over them both, and turns for the Shatterdome.

"They need to know--" Aleksis doesn't have to finish; the comm tunes to the Shatterdome.

_"--movement along the miracle mile, it's--sir, it's Cherno--"_

"Hong Kong Shatterdome, this is Cherno Alpha. Come in, Hong Kong," Sasha says once the broadcast light flickers on.

_"Holy shit, sir, it's them, it's --"_

_"Cherno Alpha, this is Hong Kong, we thought--"_ A second voice takes over, different, familiar; Aleksis sends a mental image of Hercules Hansen over the Drift.

"You thought wrong. We are incoming with Crimson Typhoon and need immediate medical assistance. The triplets are badly injured." Sasha pauses, waits out the series of barked orders and muffled "yes, sir" and scrambling half-drowned out by the incessant thump-thump-thump of Cherno Alpha's steady progress, the whine and grind of protesting motors. "We've got three survivors on scanners--"

_"I've got retrieval en route to pick up -- Wait, three? We're reading Gipsy's pilots, but Striker self-destructed--"_

"Three," Aleksis confirms.

Cherno Alpha sends the scans across the Drift again, transmits them back to the Shatterdome.

The Shatterdome doesn't answer for a long time; all Cherno Alpha can hear is ragged breathing.

"The Marshall was dying, Herc," Sasha says. "We all knew even if we never said anything."

Cherno Alpha gets a sense of the same gentle apology as he had earlier, just not towards him.

_"I--"_

_'Patience,'_ Sasha sends, reaching for Aleksis across the short space that divides them; it is only made possible with Cherno's cooperation, now, and the joints still locked around Crimson Typhoon's bulk threatening to pull them off-balance.

Cherno Alpha latches onto the single lifesign so very distant from them again, flashes it across the Drift. It is strong, steady; it cannot be this dying Marshall.

 _'That,'_ Aleksis sends, strong and proud, _'is his partner.'_

 _"Bring your tin-plated bucket of bolts home. Medical's on deck."_ There's more harsh breathing across the comm, uneven; something tips over and clatters to the floor. _"It's a brand new world out there,"_ Hercules adds. _"Hong Kong out."_

The silence of the comm is comforting, returning Cherno Alpha to his normal state of operations: just him and his pilots and the wide blue sea, even if only for a little while.


End file.
